


On The Ropes

by fabella



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexuality, Eddie Is Grieving, Good things take time, Let Eddie Be Soft, M/M, Pining, Project: Get Buck Laid, Self-Destruction, Set somewhere nebulously after 3x10 probably, Street fighting, Trash Cans On Fire, have I ever written anything without pining? i think not, hurt/comfort/more hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabella/pseuds/fabella
Summary: Buck wakes to a late night visitor sometime after the events of 3x10. It's Eddie. He's the visitor.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 113
Kudos: 668





	1. Chapter 1

Buck wakes from a fever dream to a thump downstairs, baritone grumbling, and a light turning on. It cuts up into the loft space, spiriting across his bedroom ceiling. Buck jolts and sits upright so fast he makes himself dizzy. He slaps one hand on the mattress to keep his balance. For a split second he thinks about his gun, but then remembers he gave it up when Christopher first started coming over.

Buck grits his teeth.

“Shit,” he hisses.

“It’s just me,” a familiar voice shouts up at him. “Sorry, bud.”

Buck blinks and pushes his blanket off. “Eddie?” he calls.

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.” More noises from downstairs. Drawers being pulled open then clacking shut. Some more muttering. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Buck rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. He goes to the railing and leans over, peering down into the apartment below. The light is coming from the bathroom beyond the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Buck calls. “Where’s Chris?”

“He’s at home with Karla. I didn’t want to worry them.”

Buck frowns. He’s dripping sweat, so he swaps out his t-shirt before he takes the steps, bare feet making no sound. He tip-toes across the kitchen floor, over Eddie’s shadow in the rectangle of light, creeping for the bathroom. When he gets there, Eddie is bent over the sink with his shirt off and there are wet towels and bandage supplies strewn around him, but Buck can’t see that. All he sees is skin. Sweet, lovely, brown, and flexing. The live action of the dream he’s just been dragged out of. Buck drops against the door jamb, knees unreliable. Two minutes ago, he was being pounded into his sheets so sweetly he wanted to cry and here he is, confronted with the body of the man doing it.

"Wow," he says, entirely against his will, and Eddie nearly bashes his head against the faucet. He starts cussing up a storm, dripping water everywhere.

It’s then that the whole shaky footage comes into focus. This isn’t some pornographic hallucination. Eddie is a disaster scene; bruises in the ditches between his ribs, elbow raw and scraped, a jagged scratch down his side. He’s bent over the sink and there is blood dripping from between his fingers as he washes his face. The heat in Buck’s gut cools to ashes.

“Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Ok,” Eddie says, voice hollow within the porcelain basin. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

Buck covers his face with both hands and growls into his cupped palms. When he drags his fingers down, Eddie is staring at him, unimpressed. Pink water drips from his red, leaking nose and he has one eyebrow raised pointedly.

“A little dramatic there, princess,” Eddie says. Somehow, even with a face that resembles pummeled hamburger meat, he manages to look beleaguered by Buck’s antics.

“I thought you were done with this.” Buck gestures to the mess in front of him. The bloody cotton balls scattered across the floor. “Yet here you are, Fight Club the Sequel.”

“Pfft. Overrated movie.”

“What? You’re crazy! That movie is---a conversation for another time. Don’t distract me, you heathen.”

Eddie smirks. Even his teeth are bloody. Christ.

“What’s wrong with you, man?” Buck asks sternly. He steps further into the small bathroom and blocks Eddie in. “You not sleeping again?”

Eddie’s smirk falters. He looks left of Buck and that’s his answer.

Buck’s heart pinches. Goddammit, Eddie.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Eddie says instead. His gruffness is meant to come across as resilient, but he mostly just sounds scared and sad. “I didn’t want to freak Christopher or Karla out. I look bad enough without all the crusted blood.” He gestures at his face. “Things got ugly.”

Buck can imagine how that would go. Karla would be disapproving and disappointed. She’d have a thing or two to say and demand a captive audience. And then, most terrible of all, she’d forgive you. Christopher would do his best to understand why his dad looked so messed up on his day off and smile through it, because he’s Buck’s brave little Dora. _Just keep swimming_.

Buck swallows. “Looks like you lost.”

Eddie turns to face the mirror. He pokes at a bruise above his eyebrow that is slightly swollen.

“It sure does,” Eddie says. “I guess that’s because I did.”

“How much money did you lose?”

“Two hundred,” Eddie says quietly. “Well, two-sixty.”

Buck sighs. “That’s more like three hundred, which means you’re gonna need an extra shift next week to make that truck payment. Was it worth it?”

Eddie grimaces and ducks back to the water, splashing some more on his face and scrubbing less than gently. Buck flinches sympathetically. Eddie absolutely reeks of Catholic guilt, which is pretty impressive, considering the man hasn’t stepped foot in a church in almost six years for reasons he hasn’t explained. Buck reaches out, gets ahold of Eddie’s shoulders and tugs him off the sink.

“Sit down,” he says. “If you’re going to bleed all over my bathroom, at least let me help.”

Eddie waits mutely on the closed toilet seat while Buck plucks one of the wet towels off the shelf of the sink and warms it with new water. He wrings it out then moves to stand in front of Eddie and starts rubbing the cloth gently through Eddie’s dirt and sweat soaked hair. Pink rivulets snake down Eddie’s forehead when Buck loosens a small scab. Eddie tolerates this with wide brown eyes and it’s suddenly very apparent that Buck’s bathroom is not built for two overly-grown men.

“Does this hurt?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “It’s ok.”

Buck rubs across Eddie’s eyebrows and Eddie shuts his eyes, moist lashes fanning over his cheekbones. It gives Buck pause, but it’s nothing new, being moved by the deceptively sweet look of Eddie. That particular flavor of vulnerability is a sinkhole Buck hardly ever manages to dodge completely for more than a day or two. The Diaz boys know how to get around him, that’s for sure.

“What’s up with the macho act?” Buck asks while wiping Eddie’s cheeks. He sees Eddie’s jaw clench from up close and rolls his eyes. “Just tell me. Friendship is a two-way street, man. You’d kick my ass for acting like this and you know it.”

Something about that triggers Eddie. He blinks and frowns impressively. It’s all in the eyebrows.

“Why do people keep saying that to me?” Eddie says. “Am I a shitty friend or something?”

“No.” Buck stops, thinking about it. Water from the towel drips down his wrist. “Maybe a little withholding. You’re there for me. You give me advice, make demands, correct me, but god forbid I try to keep you from self-destructing if you’re aiming to. You’re a trashcan on fire right now and you can barely sit still long enough for me to put out some flames.”

“Well,” Eddie says. “I can be stubborn. I know that.”

“So,” Buck cues and starts wiping him down again. “Speak. Talk. Channel some of that rage into healthy communication.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Buck,” Eddie grates. He stares at his own feet while Buck tapes a piece of gauze to a nasty gash on his collar bone. “I’m fucked up. I hate Shannon for being dead, but how can I? She gave me this beautiful little boy who absolutely completes me and took care of him when I fucked off. Then I remember that we were doing okay without her, not great maybe, but we were figuring it out, and I hate her again, because she forced her way back into my life using our son.”

Buck sets the tape and towel aside. That’s not quite how he remembers it.

“But she didn’t want us, man.” Eddie looks up, big brown eyes that are all at once exactly like Christopher’s without looking anything like them at all. Substance, not superficiality. “No, she just didn’t want me.”

“That’s not true,” Buck says. His fingers tremble where he dusts gravel off the road rash on Eddie’s chest. Shannon wasn’t a stupid woman. “She didn’t choose to die, Eddie.”

“It is,” Eddie says. “She wanted a divorce, Buck. She told me right before she died. And I can’t---blame her. My heart wasn’t in it, not really. I’d already started a new life. Abuela, Karla, everyone at the station. You. It all came first. She was a visitor in her own family. It’s my fault. I wasn’t the man she’d left behind anymore so I can’t hate her. Not as much as I hate myself, anyway.”

Buck shakes his head, back and forth, but Eddie raises a hand to ward him off and fresh blood drips down the side of his face from a cut above his eyebrow. He speaks so quickly that he hardly takes in a breath and his words start tripping over each other.

“I feel so much guilt. And yet, I’m relieved. Because Christopher will never have to know what a failure I am. How disgusting is that? I’m happy his mom died before she could officially leave me. It’s sick. So that’s why when I can’t sleep I go find someone’s fist to bash my face against once or twice. I can’t begin to figure out how to live inside my own skin right now. Satisfied? Or did you just want the spark notes?”

Eddie drags in a deep breath after, holding himself stiff and pale, like a wooden doll yanking on his own puppet strings. Buck blinks at him and the blood thinners put in overtime behind the walls of his heart, making everything soft and flowing, pumping that sweet juice straight to his fingertips so they can long to pull Eddie in and protect him from himself.

“You’re looking at me like you expect me to hand down some sort of judgement. What can I tell you, man? Congrats on being human after all?”

Eddie huffs and drops his chin, hiding his eyes again.

“You’re allowed to move on,” Buck says. “You waited two years for her, man. You displaced your family for her on the off chance that you’d figure it out. It’s not like you planned on meeting all of us. Outside of all that, you stuck around. You were going to try to make it work.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Eddie says. “You don’t have to look Christopher in the eye every day and know you’re the one that destroyed his family.”

“You think that kid has an ounce of resentment in him, then you’re crazier than I think you are.”

The side of Eddie’s mouth lifts slightly. “You’ve got a point there.”

After a moment, Eddie pushes Buck away by the hips so that he can lean over his own lap, head hanging down, fingers dangling between his knees. When he inhales, his ribs expand, bones tight against his skin. Buck hesitates, then lays his palm flat over Eddie’s shoulder blade, where it is unblemished except for the scatter of pretty little beauty marks. The skin there is very warm.

“Take better care of yourself,” Buck says. “If not for yourself, then for the rest of us.”

Eddie chuckles. “Taking care of myself doesn’t pay the bills. That truck is expensive, bud.”

“I could help if you wanted,” Buck says, before he thinks better of it. And then, because it’s said, he leans into, talking fast. “It’s not like you haven’t gotten me out of a bind or two. I’m good for it. Let me help you, Eddie.”

Eddie goes still, ribs hung on an inhale. Pride. Maybe something else.

“What can I do to help?” Buck asks, voice dropped so low he almost can’t hear it over the thumping of his heart in his ears. “I’m your friend.”

Somehow, Buck’s hand on Eddie’s back softens and expands, fingers spreading apart as wide as they will go. He watches in wonder as he loses control over himself. His fingers lead his hand on a merry chase. Under his calluses, he learns the exact grain of Eddie’s silky skin. The journey takes him up over Eddie’s rounded shoulder until his thumb just barely strokes the side of Eddie’s throat. He feels Eddie swallow convulsively and watches goosebumps streak up Eddie’s arm, raising every hair along the way.

“I know,” Eddie says, higher in octave than normal. “You’re a good guy, Buck.”

Nothing about the way Buck just touched him was about being a good guy.

After a moment, Eddie flicks his gaze up. Just fucking looks at him. And Buck knows that Eddie knows. The only way out is through. Buck licks his lips.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers.

Eddie chews on his bottom lip. His eyelashes flutter in a way Buck has never seen.

“You already are,” Eddie says.

Buck looks at his own hand, the placement of his thumb. Considering, he shifts so that he is cupping the side of Eddie’s neck. Eddie still hasn’t moved. Buck reaches around him, curling his fingers around the back of the toilet. He leans in and tilts his chin to the left. Eddie watches him approach, lips parted. Buck gets close enough that Eddie’s face becomes a blur, so he shuts his eyes and leaps. The first press of lips is soft and electric, a dry brush that almost tickles. Buck tilts more, pressing firmer, and he feels moisture behind those lips. Hunger carefully leashed by friendly teasing gapes open inside his gut and he just barely catches himself from lunging. He holds on, squeezing porcelain so tightly it squeaks and clatters.

“Eddie,” he whispers, their lips dragging and catching. “This ok?”

Eddie lifts his jaw and kisses back. Buck latches on with both hands. He wraps his arm around Eddie’s waist and knots his fist in Eddie’s belt, using it to yank Eddie up and in. With the other hand, he holds the back of Eddie’s head. With a lift and swivel, he has Eddie up against the sink. They both grunt at the landing. He kisses harder than he’s ever kissed someone before. It’s not pretty and it’s not nice. He rubs himself raw against the faint beard growth on Eddie’s jaw and it could be broken glass for all he cares. He’s crawled over worse for less. When he tastes blood, it feels like the natural progression of how deep he needs to be.

Distantly, he notes Eddie’s arm come around him, go knuckles deep into his sides, but Eddie pushes his tongue into Buck’s mouth and Buck stops registering much at all. It’s all taste, texture, and wet, soft sounds. Buck gasps and Eddie mirrors it, then Eddie bites Buck’s bottom lip gently, and Buck leads with his dick, mindless and aiming at Eddie. He scoots his hand under Eddie’s thigh, spreads him open enough that Buck can tuck his hips down and in. Get real close. Eddie’s breath stutters and Buck feels him there behind the front of his mud splattered jeans, ready for action. Buck’s head spins. He groans and squeezes Eddie’s thigh, grinding in tight with sparks going off behind his eyes. It’s about fucking time, his body says. This is where the action is at.

Buck clutches Eddie’s side desperately and Eddie wheezes, seizing up.

“Whoa,” he says. His hands fly up and he grabs Buck by the shoulders.

Buck opens his eyes and sees himself first: doped expression in the mirror, face patchy and flushed. He’s closer to the mirror than he expects and there’s nothing familiar there. He doesn’t look like himself at all. Somehow, he’s got Eddie pinned half over the sink. The back of Eddie’s neck is dark red, but there’s also faint bruising there, as if someone got a sucker punch in.

“Fuck, Eddie,” he says, bittersweet with concern and lust that keeps him foggy headed and selfish. He drags his hands up Eddie’s body and gets ahold of his ears. “Did I hurt you?” he grates and just barely grazes Eddie’s raw temple with his nose. Eddie half head-butts him.

“I’m good,” Eddie says. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

Buck sighs and kisses Eddie’s cheek. His lower jaw where the hair is sharp and unfriendly. Under his chin. His fingertips graze just below Eddie’s belly button and he considers what he could do to Eddie without aggravating his injuries. A hand wouldn’t hurt. A friendly mouth couldn’t do much damage, could it? It might loosen him up, even. Soften all those fine, tense muscles. What are friends for?

“Buck,” Eddie sighs and Buck kisses his throat, starts nibbling.

“Eddie,” Buck agrees, because he likes saying his name like this. It’s honest for once.

They fit together so perfectly, is the thing. Buck has felt some kind of way before, but never like this. It’s a close relative to that feeling he gets at work; not when the flames are jumping out at him, when every hair feels in danger of catching fire, not those moments, but the after: the water has made everything heavy and what’s left is cooked, and wet, and the only heat is inside his own veins. It feels like the only warm spot left in the entire world is inside his own body. He’s liquid and hollow at the same time and Eddie is thick and heavy against his thigh. Eddie’s hips give a tiny, shy thrust and Buck wants to lock him into place with bolts until they die.

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” Buck whispers and he flashes hot at having said it out loud, hands clenching and unclenching around Eddie’s waist. Eddie huffs again, wiggling until Buck’s hands aren’t digging into his bruises. Now that it’s out there, Buck’s dick pulses in aggravation. He knows if he reaches into his sweatpants, he’ll already be leaking.

“Buck, I---” Buck cups the side of Eddie’s head, and Eddie cuts off. He twists, eyes clenched shut, showing his teeth between snarled lips that Buck drags down with a thumb. “What are you doing to me?”

“You like that idea?” Buck whispers and Eddie is nearly panting, face turned away. Buck licks one bright red ear. He croons into it. “I’d bend over for you in a heartbeat, baby, but maybe you want me on my back. I was dreaming about that when you showed up. I bet you have a nice fat dick, Eddie.”

Thinking about it, Buck reaches down Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie catches his wrist and Buck freezes. He goes hot, then cold as Eddie pushes on the wrist so that it presses against Buck’s stomach and forces Buck back. And then Eddie lets go, wilting against the sink, and they’re suddenly not touching anymore. Over as abruptly as it had started. Eddie blushes and doesn’t quite meet Buck’s eyes. Buck’s hands hang heavily at his sides. Chills race over him.

“Sorry, Ed,” Buck says. “I shouldn’t have---you’re hurt.”

And confused, he doesn’t add. Buck has done worse things in his life than make a pass at Eddie while he is at his most vulnerable. Unfortunately.

“I may need an X-ray,” Eddie admits, struggling upright. He pokes at his ribs a little, but Buck is the one that winces. There’s fresh blood blinding Eddie’s right eye and dripping off when he blinks. “I guess I should go ahead and rack up the hospital fees while I’m burning money.”

Buck notes the taste of iron in his own mouth. It’s not his blood.

“I’ll drive you,” Buck says, and he’s shivering so he tucks his hands in his arm pits.

“No, uh.” Eddie scrubs a hand over his short hair, meets Buck’s eyes for a half a second before his gaze skitters away. “Better if I go alone. Less questions that way, and.”

And.

Buck’s seen that face before.

He’s hoped to never see it on Eddie.

“You need some space,” he says slowly. Buck backs off, hands raised until he’s all but pressed against the bathroom wall and Eddie hangs his head miserably. The cold wall sucks the rest of the heat straight out of Buck’s blood until he’s the same temperature as the pins in his leg. He stares at the crown of his best friend’s head and the past five minutes flash over him at warp speed. He reaches desperately for an explanation, but he’s incriminated himself entirely. He hadn’t exactly spoken in symbolism. You don’t come back from asking to get fucked.

Eventually, Eddie lifts his head and meets his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, but Buck goes deaf.

“I got a little out of hand,” Buck starts flatly. Eddie raises a hand, tries to cut him off, but Buck speaks over him. “I mean it, Eddie. I’m not always that pushy. I can be pretty damn gentle when you want me to be. I can—Eddie, I,” Buck’s voice breaks. He cuts himself off then, because he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Anything could fall out of his mouth. It’s just a way to make noise.

“I’m not a delicate flower, Buck,” Eddie says, looking more like himself. Half grumpy old man, half rebellious teenager. “I could break you in two if I wanted.”

“Nothing wrong with being delicate.” Buck tries to smile. “You might learn something.”

“From you?” Eddie says. “Never.”

Buck chuckles, but it’s too moist. 

“I’m gonna head out,” Eddie says carefully. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Ok? I’m just. This isn’t a good idea. We should think it through. Regroup.”

Buck squeezes his hands into fists. He thinks about Eddie walking out of here without him, driving himself to the emergency room and waiting all by himself in a hard plastic chair while his whole body screams misery at him. He thinks about what Eddie has done to put himself there. Someone looking at him and being able to hit him hard enough to make him bleed. No doubt Eddie has looked at plenty of faces and been able to hit them just as hard. That’s not the issue.

“I can’t,” Buck says, words struggling up his windpipe.

Christopher is waiting at home for his dad. In some alternate universe, Eddie gets hit so hard that he never crawls out of the dirt to Buck’s tiny bathroom.

“Just let me drive you,” Buck says.

“Buck.”

Buck pushes off the wall, eyes down. “I’m getting my keys. Put your shirt on.”

Eddie trails after him into the kitchen. “I know how to drive. Really, Buck, I don’t need or want a babysitter.”

He pulls up short when Buck turns around and they are inches apart again. Buck doesn’t know what’s on his face but something knocks Eddie visibly backwards.

“Don’t,” Buck says quietly, and it’s between them then, in the dark kitchen, that Buck sees it click in Eddie’s eyes. Fear becomes understanding. This isn’t just one of Buck’s stunts. They won’t be able to let this ride. Buck’s gonna die here on this hill he built out of feelings if Eddie doesn’t help him. “You’ll get your space. Tomorrow, okay?”

Eddie nods slowly. He looks sad again. “Yeah, Buck. That’s okay.”

Buck spends the next three hours in the emergency waiting room. For two of those, he’s side by side with Eddie while he pages restlessly through old magazines between fitful dozing. The blood on his face has long since dried. The neck of Eddie’s shirt is stretched like someone had gotten a hold of it and yanked. Eddie is silent and Buck is silent. There’s a whole lot of silence going around.

Buck stays wide awake when Eddie leaves to get treated, but it feels like he has sand in his eyes. He rubs them a few times and his eyelashes feel like tiny thorns. Time lapses while he stares at the wall, at a sign warning about opioid medication restriction policies. Patients come and go. Some are crying. Some are alone. Three cracked ribs and a hefty hospital bill later, Eddie gets buzzed out of the emergency room. He nods at Buck when Buck drags himself out of the chair stiffly. The nurse helping Eddie through the door stares at Buck curiously.

Outside, the skyline has just started to brighten. Buck takes a deep breath as he and Eddie walk silently to the parking lot. Eddie moves slower than he had when they’d arrived.

“I’m gonna have to take a few days off,” Eddie admits. He says the next part quickly, audibly holding his breath. “If you want to, uh. Loan me that money. I wouldn’t ask but I have to pay Christopher’s tuition this week. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“Yeah, man,” Buck says. He scans the lot for his ride. He spots the jeep and unlocks it when they get within range. “I ain’t worried about it.”

“I’m ok,” Eddie offers immediately after, like it also hurts to say. “Nothing a few ibuprofens won’t handle.”

Buck looks at him then, the bags under his eyes blending with bruises that are going to keep Christopher up at night. It looks worse in the approaching daylight. All of Eddie’s good looks appear to have been dragged across a grater a few times.

“You can’t do this again, Eddie.”

They stop in front of the jeep. “I know. I won’t.”

Buck wants to believe him. Eddie is an easy man to believe. So he nods and opens Eddie’s door for him, waving him in. Eddie looks more disturbed and put-upon than grateful, but he climbs into the jeep with Buck’s hand under his elbow for extra support. Buck shuts the door behind him and goes around to the other side. He stands there for a moment to collect himself, bouncing his keys in his palm as he tries not to think. Traffic picks up. The sanitation companies have started collecting the trash. The clouds are pink and gold and he has Eddie’s blood under his fingernails.

When Buck climbs into the jeep, Eddie acts like he’s asleep and wasn’t staring the entire time. They don’t speak on the way to Eddie’s house. Neither of them puts the radio on. When Buck parks the jeep, he almost removes the keys from the ignition before he remembers his promise to give Eddie space. He peeks around Eddie to the house beyond. All the curtains are drawn shut. Christopher is probably tucked into his spaceman comforter. Karla’s snuggled up in the guest room with half a bottle of wine. When Eddie goes in, he’s going to climb into his mile-wide bed in just his tighty-whities and when he wakes up, he’s going to make sausage biscuits and gravy for everyone, his version of an apology breakfast. It’s all Buck can do to keep from fucking weeping.

“I’ll pick you up when you need your truck,” Buck offers. “Maybe you and the little guy can come over for a movie. I’ll make nachos.”

“Sure, maybe,” Eddie says. He sounds like he hasn’t heard a word. He’s drooping against the window. He winces when he moves to unbuckle the seat belt and Buck slams his closed fist against the steering wheel before he realizes what he’s doing. Sharp pain rattles up his arm. It’s so good it takes his breath away. Eddie’s seatbelt unlatches and slithers off him and Buck hits the steering wheel again. And again. He goes deaf and blind as the emotional concussion swells within. The jeep shakes with it. Just as quickly as he’s lost, he’s back.

He returns to find his hand bright red and cramping. He flexes it carefully, panting.

“You better?” Eddie rasps.

Buck laughs hysterically. He falls against the seat. He’s too tired to be embarrassed.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, you piss me off.”

“I guess that makes us even,” Eddie says. Buck waits but Eddie doesn’t say anything about his spastic outburst. Not that he’d have much room to talk. After a moment, Eddie sighs and makes moves to leave, gets his fingers around the door handle and pops it open like seal. “I gotta face the music sometime.”

“Wait,” Buck says. Eddie looks over his shoulder. “It’s not tomorrow yet.”

Eddie hesitates. That means something. Buck isn’t sure what, but he’ll take it. He reaches out and hooks Eddie’s jaw like he’s a particularly difficult fish. Eddie makes like a statue, except for eyelids that slip shut when Buck kisses him very carefully, very precisely, on his wounded mouth. They flutter open when Buck pulls back, irises nearly gold in the morning light, and for just a second, he pushes forward like he’s chasing the kiss, but then he catches himself and jerks away. Buck can’t help but think that Eddie is a man that needs to be touched. It’s shitty how he gets in his own way all the time. 

“Sex complicates everything,” Eddie says, licking the dry scab on his upper lip.

“Who’s asking for sex?” Buck smiles crookedly. He leaves his arm across the top of Eddie’s head rest. What’s he got to lose at this point? “I’m talking Disney. Pixar if we’re feeling adventurous. Are you feeling adventurous?”

“I don’t want to lead you on.” Eddie clears his throat and lifts his chin. Buck wonders if this is his street fighting face. It’s softer than Eddie thinks. “I can’t just start something with you. I have a son. He thinks the world of you. I can’t decide I’m interested and mess everything up again.” 

Buck cocks his head. “You are, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Interested.”

Eddie frowns sternly.

“Don’t start,” Eddie says.

“Oh boy, Diaz.” Buck whoops loudly, shakes a fist. “You got a little crush on me now? Well, I can’t blame you. I guess I can give you a chance to see what all this fine man is made of. I don’t want you to die from pining. After all, like you’re always saying, you’ve got a son.”

Eddie chuckles like he can’t help it. It sounds like a cat coughing up a hairball.

“Shut up, man. You are so annoying. Do you hear yourself talk?”

“Over the pitter patter of your desperate heart eyes? Nah, can’t say I do.”

Eddie full blown laughs. “We are not doing this. Goodnight. Or good morning. Whatever.”

Buck leans toward the open door as Eddie climbs out. He blows Eddie a kiss.

“Sleep well, baby!”

“And don’t call me Diaz,” Eddie throws over his shoulder. The door slams in Buck’s face.

Buck watches him go inside without looking back and retreats to the driver’s side. The smile slides off his face like wet clay. He turns the ignition over and pulls away from the curb. The pain in his hand rings at him like an alarm. He fans his fingers out, ignoring the ache. He hurts everywhere else like he’s been beaten to death, very slowly, by someone who loves him. He coughs and half expects to choke on a mouthful of blood. At the next red light, he leans his forehead against the steering wheel and says a prayer.

If he can just have this man.

If he can just be part of this family.

The light turns green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "On The Ropes"  
> Forced against the ropes by the opponent's attack.  
> In state of near collapse or defeat.  
> Who is actually on the ropes in this story is open to interpretation.
> 
> It's been nearly two years since I've written anything worth sharing. Vidding has been my creative outlet of choice. Something about the story between Buck and Eddie appeals to my desire to finish unfinished business. This story is complete in three acts. I'm not always a tremendously quick writer because I go back and rehash the same scene twenty times before I'm through, writing, deleting, then rewriting. I'm attempting this whole work in progress thing as I've been reading a lot of WIPs myself lately and there's something to be said for the anticipation of that next chapter that makes a story that much more satisfying when complete.
> 
> The inspiration for this story is the kitchen scene in 3x09 and Eddie's startled and confused body language. He was simultaneously repelled by Buck's unexpected emotional outburst and enthralled by it. I've watched it at least twenty times at this point to capture who Eddie was to me in that moment and hopefully bring it to life here in this story.
> 
> I would enjoy your thoughts and feedback. It's good to be writing again.
> 
> If you'd like, check out my recent Buck/Eddie video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XISHqef4Ndg
> 
> You can sometimes find me at fabella-aka-wistfulfever.tumblr.com.


	2. Chapter 2

Buck doesn’t push. Patience is not in his nature, but he cobbles together every little piece of himself that has ever waited in line, been stuck in traffic, or had a doctor run late. He gets out of bed the following day, checks his phone, showers, brushes his teeth, checks his phone, dresses himself, and then he checks his phone. What he doesn’t do is drive straight to Eddie’s house to camp out on his front lawn like a rabid dog hunting down a leash. Work is a trudge through car crashes in ninety-degree weather, and Greenberg has forgotten to wear deodorant again. Also, it’s Eddie’s day off.

“You’ve got resting bitch face,” Chimney tells him while they are digging up a flower garden, for reasons he still hasn’t quite wrapped his mind around.

“Stop looking at it,” Buck advises. “We’ll both feel better.”

Chimney shrugs and throws a pile of morning glories over his shoulder while an older lady with stenciled eyebrows and a Bob Ross wig sobs delicately in the distance.

Buck has the next two shifts off, and by the time that third day rolls around, he stomps into work to find that Eddie is on medical leave for his ribs. There are rumblings that he’s been forced back into therapy, that he only fights because he has a massive gambling addiction, that he was never quite right after Shannon, and Buck slams his locker shut with so much force that it swings back open and smacks its neighbor. No one tries talking to him for the rest of the morning.

It’s nearly eight days before their schedule syncs up.

From Eddie, it’s radio silence during that time.

Buck goes ever so quietly out of his mind.

Space, Eddie had said. How much space were they talking about here?

On Thursday, he happens to pass by Hen in the loft, curled up on the couch while she’s texting with Eddie. She’s giggling less than quietly to herself, so naturally he asks her what’s so funny. She turns her phone around and shows him a picture of Eddie and Christopher in full 80s rocker glam and hair. Buck takes that like a punch to the kidney and instinctively steps away, turning his head aside. Hen stares at him with her lips parted, blinking behind the thick rims of her glasses.

“Sorry, Buck,” she says quietly.

Buck raises a hand. He can’t say anything, so he shakes his head.

Hen watches him a little more closely after that. She reins Chimney in when his friendly ribbing starts ramping up. She takes Buck out to breakfast the next morning and they eat their weight in waffles. She doesn’t even make fun of him for his egg to ketchup ratio.

Buck is not a man of cardio by any means, but he takes to the treadmill in desperation. He runs until his legs ache and there’s a stitch in his side. There’s the job. He picks up as many extra shifts as they’ll allow. He has purpose with a harness around his waist, rope burning a hole through his well-loved gloves, and the arms of a stranger wrapped around him with trust born out of desperation. Buck doesn’t miss Bobby’s eyes tracking him through the firehouse as Buck bounces from task to task with laser focus that even he has to admit isn’t his style. It’s worse at home. He tries not to be there.

Long walks. Drives to the hills. The boxing gym.

He digs a person-shaped rut into Maddie’s couch and gets her and Chim hooked on a southern barbecue cooking show. One rut becomes three. Chim stops shooting him overt signals to get the hell out already when they start making the smokey chipotle chicken recipe. Every now and then Buck takes his phone out and swipes through his most recent messages. There are more people in this world than Edmundo Diaz of the One Eighteen.

Buck sleeps, but not well. He eats, but poorly.

It becomes clear to him that he’s never actually had his heart broken before.

_What a way to level up._

Time passes. Buck eventually finds himself seated on a bench in the back of the locker room, leaning on his own thighs while he laces his boots up before morning briefing. A throat clears. Buck’s heart drops faster than an elevator without brakes, and he’s rusty enough at this point that he looks up without preparing himself. Polished, spit-shined, and gleaming with morning sun from his cheekbone to his elbow, Eddie gives him a nervous half smile and waves. Buck leaves his left boot untied because his fingers go numb. He straightens with stiff, precise movements.

“Hi,” Buck says. He can’t fake a smile.

Eddie drops his hand and rubs it over his thigh.

“So, uh. We’re a little short staffed out here. Gonna be a rough shift.”

Buck looks out through the plate glass, to the bright red fire trucks beyond, the stagger of tired looking co-workers, some he’s closer to than others, all of them some type of family.

“Looks like,” Buck answers flatly.

Eddie shifts on his feet and Buck’s attention snaps like a rubber band back to him. Latches on. The bruises on Eddie’s face have faded to a muted yellow the sunshine washes out. Nothing much hints to the story of that night except the scab above Eddie’s eyebrow and the lingering scrapes on his elbow. Even his lip has healed. Buck flinches and looks away from Eddie’s mouth.

“You ok?” Eddie asks, softly, with his ‘Christopher’ voice.

Buck lunges to his feet. Eddie unwinds from the doorway all at once, startled.

“I’m great.” Buck claps his hands together and grins maniacally. “Looking forward to another excellent day at the one eighteen. How about you, Eddie? You good? Bust a nose or two on your way in to clear out all that righteous rage? Wanna take a swing at me right now just to be sure?”

Beyond them, a few heads turn in their direction. Buck gives exactly zero shits. Eddie has the audacity to look wounded as Buck approaches, eyes fluttering quickly like he’s blinking away a strong wave of emotion, because god forbid, Eddie feel something deeper than the sting of a bruise. Rage sizzles through Buck’s blood, pumps hot and energizing and thick. He skates around Eddie, left boot loose and dragging with every step. They make the type of eye contact people get out of the way of and Hen lets out a long, low whistle as she ducks and weaves between them.

“Welcome back,” Buck hears her say. “Don’t let Buckaroo here fool you; he’s been a terror while you’ve been gone. He made the newbie cry.”

Buck barely refrains from turning to defend himself. Zero shits, he reminds himself.

“Is it chilly in here or is it just me?” Chimney asks Jim as Buck passes by.

Buck bares his teeth. Chimney barks at him.

Somehow, though, it’s easier to breathe.

*******

The standard 24-hour shift can go one of two ways. Alright, maybe one of three. The first is the slow, painful march to the finish line, when clock watching becomes a competitive sport and physical fights break out over who gets the privilege of doing the dishes. The ideal way is the second way, when the agony of monotony is balanced by calls that involve minimal risk and are easily solved. The third way is a dead ass run from start to finish like the devil lit the bones of the city on fire himself. Today, they are doing things the third way, and Los Angeles is burning.

Wind slaps Buck’s face from the cracked window. The truck screams down the streets, dodging and swinging around traffic that parts reluctantly. Buck holds onto the hand grip and sways into Hen on his left. The sirens throb in his guts as much as his ears, vibrating between his toes. Bubbles of nervous anticipation float through his chest. Eddie drapes over the other side of the compartment, legs spread wide, helmet in his lap. Buck uses the reflection in the glass to watch Eddie’s face. Eddie stares straight ahead, swaying ever so slightly with the truck’s momentum. Sixteen hours in has brought the stubble back to his jaw and that little patch that grows on his neck separate from the rest.

Buck coughs and jabs himself in the sternum with his fist a couple times. As usual, every time he coughs, Cap throws him a sharp look that makes Buck roll his eyes.

“Christ,” Chimney mutters. “These lights are gonna give me a seizure one day, I swear.”

“If the rebar through your skull didn’t do that, I think you’re safe,” Hen says.

The car fire is out in forty-five seconds. Eddie rolls the hose up after in silence and has to pause, wincing visibly. Hen shoulder checks Buck before climbing onto the truck and completely misses Buck’s betrayed glare. Buck turns and stomps over to Eddie. Work is work. Eddie glances at him with faint confusion when Buck finishes helping him clear their supplies, but he’s smart enough not to say anything about the extra set of hands. Chimney supervises from the sidelines, eating a pilfered bag of potato chips, which he only gets away with because Eddie and Buck are so busy ignoring each other that they don’t have time to hassle Chimney into doing his share.

Back at the firehouse Buck grabs fifteen minutes of sleep in the bunks after he inhales a questionable burrito the Cap will never know about. Eddie disappears out the back door. Buck has just snoozed his alarm when the bell goes off again. He rolls out of the bunk. Hen follows after him into the truck, looking a little wild around the eyes. Eddie swings in last, tucking his cell phone away under the turnout, and he, at least, has a smile on his face. Buck grimaces.

“How’s Chris?” Chimney asks, snapping gum.

“They’re almost done his science project,” Eddie says, voice more animated than it’s been all day. “I have no idea what it is. Top secret. It’s hush hush in the Diaz household right now.”

Buck isn’t looking at them, but his teeth clack when his jaw twitches reactively. Buck’s supposed to go to that science fair. He’d promised Christopher. He feels a hand on his knee and flinches, jerking away. Hen smiles at him softly. Buck closes his eyes and stuffs his tongue against his bottom lip. Chill out, Buckley, he reminds himself. Another day like this is going to get him killed. Or worse, fired.

“You’re still going, right?” Eddie asks.

When silence follows, Buck looks around and realizes the question is meant for him. He rushes to twist his microphone around.

“What?” he shouts.

Eddie jolts and plucks the headphone away from his ear. Buck waits.

“The science fair. It’s next Thursday. Christopher wanted me to remind you.”

Eddie’s face is for once completely open and hopeful. Buck’s heart gives a slow, nauseating roll. 

“Of course,” Buck says. “Wouldn’t miss my little guy pawning those dweebs.”

Eddie grins and shows off the sharp incisor on the right side of his mouth. Buck blinks at him. He catches the smirk on Chimney’s face, knows Maddie will be dragging him about this interaction for days, and honestly, there is no such thing as privacy in the One Eighteen. There should really be a class they all have to take or something. Mind Your Fucking Business: Let Evan Buckley Pine in Peace.

The eighteenth hour finds them outside a cleared wood frame fire with no casualties so far. They’re helping control the spread and taking a moment to regroup when Buck spots Eddie sitting on the bumper of one of the ambulances, turnout undone and hanging loose to his waist. The One Twenty Six has taken point. Buck watches him shove a sloppy sandwich into his mouth with soot coated fingers. Buck scuffs his heavy boots through a puddle of water, then drags himself over to Eddie and plops down on the other side of the bumper. The ambulance dips with their shared weight and Eddie scrutinizes him, cheeks bulging with his spoils.

“Spare some carbs for the hungry?”

Buck holds out both palms and flutters his lashes.

Eddie coughs a little around the bread, but a smile warms his eyes. He reaches into his kit and slaps a packaged protein bar in Buck’s outstretched hands. It feels warm and wet inside the package. Buck holds it up to his face dubiously.

“Thanks, man,” Buck says, half in question.

Eddie nods and starts chewing again. Buck shrugs and rips the foil apart. It’s nutty and chewy, if mostly melted. Chocolate residue coats his fingers and makes them stick together.

“Long day,” Eddie says, after shoving the last bite in his mouth.

“Yeah,” Buck says, mouth full. “We knew it would be. Not enough people signing up these days.”

“They don’t know what they’re missing.”

Buck looks away from Eddie, at the burnt shell of the building getting pounded with water. The group of cops, paramedics, and firefighters darting around each other like they’d all attended a rehearsal for the event in preparation. The street glows red. It’s the only color he dreams in anymore. Buck lets his shoulder lean into Eddie’s and Eddie doesn’t move away. The tourniquet around his spine loosens. Grudges are no match against the sheer relief of having Eddie close.

“They really don’t,” Buck says.

Only two more calls come in before the shift end. On the last one, Eddie ends up crawling through sewage to retrieve a toddler. Everyone sits as far away from him as possible on the ride back to the station and Eddie glares at them all miserably with god knows what streaked all over his face. He’s the first out of the truck and into the showers. Buck may have been giving him the cold shoulder all day, but he’s still hyper fixated enough to know that Eddie has already gone through his standard two changes of clothes, so he leaves a clean set of his own sweatpants and shirt on the bench outside of the shower room for Eddie to change into. He forces himself to keep moving. A damp Eddie emerging from the steam wasn’t going to do anything good for his equilibrium.

Chim and Hen nod at him on the way out. Buck throws some amalgam of a salute.

He’s two miles east when he gets the text.

“Thanks. Good to see you, today.”

_Those Diaz boys_. They were hard on him.

*******

The truce holds for the next week. Buck doesn’t poke at any sore spots and Eddie doesn’t pretend the major shift in their relationship never happened. If Buck meets his eyes just so, Eddie won’t shy away, but there’s still a new caution in Eddie when Buck’s around. Buck wonders if this is what he was like when Shannon first started coming around again and the thought makes him itchy. Anything involving Eddie with anyone else makes him itch. He tries to repurpose moments like that into opportunities for growth, but sometimes he’s a little mean to the pizza delivery boy who always hovers around Eddie a hair too long while Eddie is just so sweet and understanding about it.

Must be nice.

Instead of the cute faces Eddie gives the delivery boy, all Buck receives are narrow, thoughtful eyes from Eddie and pauses before he speaks, like he's considering the wisdom of his words. Buck want to shake him, but hey, maybe Buck could learn a little something about caution himself.

He does his own considering about this while he’s changing the batteries in the radios. There are a few times in his life a little caution could have gone a long way. But, in his defense, a cautious man wouldn’t know the shy way Eddie turns into a kiss, like he’s not used to being touched. A cautious man wouldn’t know how Eddie shivers a little when you get between his legs. How he twists away from affection, like he can hardly stand it. It’s been more than a year since Eddie’s gotten laid, which is honestly a crime against nature. Buck stares down at the radios blankly. What was he doing again?

Bobby snaps his fingers in front of Buck’s face and Buck blinks.

Bobby does that thing where he smiles but also looks disapproving.

“I said your name three times,” Bobby says. “Do we need to have a conversation?”

Buck glances at Eddie, soaked to the elbows with soapy water as he scrubs the side of the truck. Buck doesn’t try to hide what that does to him for once. Doesn’t have it in him anymore. When he looks back at Bobby, Bobby’s eyes are also on Eddie. The old man’s sharp.

“I don’t know, Cap,” Buck says, somewhat challengingly. “Do we?”

Bobby raises his eyebrows. “Maybe sometime soon. I think you’ll let me now. Right.”

There’s no question in there. Buck nods. Conversation over.

Over the next few days, they maintain a semblance of their friendship. Hen throws a little adult get together with card games and drinks that Eddie can only spend a couple hours at and they hang out in the kitchen, one-upping each other with awkward rescue tales. If Eddie keeps his hands to himself a little more than usual, Buck tries not to mind. Sometimes he’ll feel eyes on him and turn away from a task to find Eddie quietly observing him. It’s not clear what he’s thinking. Then again, it never is. One day he’s going to get Eddie’s parents in a room and figure out what the fuck happened there.

“Patience,” Maddie reminds him, when Buck complains. “He’ll come around. He cares about you a lot, Buck.”

That’s not enough, he doesn’t tell her. Buck needs a far sight more than caring from Eddie.

Buck and Chim manage to saw the car door off just in time to pull a woman out of a pretzelled car and up the embankment on a backboard before the engine catches fire. Buck helps her get loaded into the ambulance, then strips his gloves off and wipes rain water from his face. He looks over the edge of the twisted guard rails and watches his team try to control the burn. Eddie glances up at him, firelight dancing off his mask. Buck climbs over the guard rail and takes a seat.

Look at me all you want, he thinks. I’m right here.

Bobby slaps him on the shoulder in passing. “Good job, kid. She was pretty scared, but you kept her calm. It could have made things worse if she had fought you.”

“Fight a face like this?” Buck mugs, all teeth. “Never happened.”

Bobby laughs. Buck returns his gaze to the car. The fire is already out. Eddie is on his hands and knees, searching under the rig for any further signs of danger. Water drips on Buck from the branches overhead, making him shiver. Buck tugs his turnout higher around his neck.

Late in the week, they pass each other in the locker room: Eddie fully dressed, Buck mostly not. Eddie nods, still tucking his shirt into his shiny belt. Buck manages to keep his eyes forward, to not slow his steps or give into the temptation to flex, but in the mirror, he sees Eddie look back, his eyes drop, his jawline go hard. It’s the first hour of their shift.

Twenty-six long hours later, after two deaths, three elbow grazes, getting Eddie to laugh so hard he cries, and some strong eye contact on the ride home from the last scene, Buck is barely through his apartment door before he’s undoing his belt, popping the tab on his pants, and getting a hand on his dick. He’s already so sensitive it makes him hiss. No time for messing around then. He jerks himself fast and a little mean, right against his front door, sucking his bottom lip in. When he comes, it’s quick and unsatisfying, and he hits his head hard enough to make his ears ring. He washes his hand off in the kitchen sink and rips a paper towel off to mop up the rest. He grabs a beer out of the fridge on his way.

In the kitchenette on their next shift together, Buck reaches around Eddie for the sugar packets and Eddie freezes, so Buck does likewise. Six other members of their team are less than three feet away and Buck stands for a solid thirty seconds with his arm grazing Eddie’s lower back, fingers clutching the drawer by Eddie’s hip. Eddie smells sharp and clean and just faintly like the same soap they all use to wash their hands. Eddie stares straight ahead. Buck sees the line of his throat wobble and licks his lips.

“I-I wasn’t---” Buck says. But why wasn’t he again.

“Buckley,” Bobby booms, from somewhere down below.

Buck jumps and tips over the mug. Coffee floods the countertop. Eddie jerks clear just in time to avoid being scalded. They each grab a fistful of paper towels to start soaking up the mess. Their knuckles graze, purely by accident, and Eddie’s hands slow. Buck meets his eyes. Eddie smiles hesitantly, and Buck is thrown back to the first few interactions they had, how guarded and professional Eddie was with him. Is that what is going to come from all this waiting?

“That wasn’t a move,” Buck says, so quietly no one else should be able to hear.

Eddie’s eyes go wide. He scans the room skittishly.

“If I make a move, you’ll know it,” Buck continues in the same tone.

“I didn’t think it was,” Eddie hisses under his breath. “Jesus, Buck. We’re at work.”

“We’re always at work. I haven’t seen you alone outside of work in weeks.”

“I know.” Eddie drops his chin and swipes harder at the counter. “I know. I’ve been thinking about that actually.”

The paper towels clump wetly in his Buck’s fist. “You have?”

Eddie throws his towels in the trash. He nods and wipes his hands off on a fresh cloth. “Chris misses you. I think he’s hiding how much. I don’t want what’s going on between us to affect him. He doesn’t deserve it. I know it’s weird, but---do you think---”

“I could swing by,” Buck offers. “Bring some dinner and a board game.”

Eddie meets his eyes for a second, then darts away. He nods. Buck claps him on the shoulder, grinning, and turns away. All six people are staring avidly back. They shift at once in a mad scatter of rustling packages and fluttering papers.

“I’m, uh.” Buck makes for the stairs. “I need to see what the Cap wants.”

*******

Buck shows up at the Diaz residence the next day just a little after four, loaded to the chin with board games, fried chicken, coleslaw, potato wedges, and biscuits. Eddie’s eyes widen when he sees the wobbling tower in Buck’s arms and he jumps forward to lighten the load. Just in time, too, because Christopher spots them from the living room and starts clattering over as fast as he can.

“Buck! You’re here!”

Buck drops the games off on the entry way table and scoops Christopher up sideways, lugging him sideways like a sack of potatoes. Christopher starts screaming with laughter right away.

“Ugh,” Buck whines. “You’re so heavy. What’s your dad feeding you? You’re at least three hundred pounds!”

“No!” Christopher giggles wildly. “That’s bigger than you!”

Buck gets him on the couch, in his lap, and just takes a moment to sink his nose into Chris’s hair and cuddle him. For that amount of time, everything is right in the world. It doesn’t matter who the president is. It doesn’t matter who died on him this week. It doesn’t matter that he’s having to out-patience Eddie’s stubborn streak. There’s just this beautiful boy.

“I miss you, Buck,” Chris whispers into Buck’s shoulder, patting Buck’s back with his little hands, and Buck deflates straight into the overstuffed cushions.

“Well, don’t you two look cozy,” Eddie says from the doorway. “You guys think you can eat in there without making a mess?”

Chris’s head pops up. “Yeah, Dad!”

“Buck?”

“I promise to be very, very careful.”

“Alright.” Eddie raises a faux-stern finger. “Just this once.”

They each find a place sitting on the floor surrounding the coffee table so that they at least protect the furniture. Buck, the biggest of them, has to hunch pretty dramatically over the plate to keep the grease from dripping on his lap. Eddie lights a single candle at Christopher’s behest and places it as far as it can get away from Chris without it being on the floor. The kid's got a sense of ceremony in him.

“Good, buddie?” Eddie asks.

Christopher nods rapidly, taking another big bite.

Buck leans down further and bumps Christopher’s shoulder with his own and Chris mugs up at him, grease smeared over the bottom half of his face. Buck pretends to smother him with a paper towel and Christopher breaks down laughing again. When they pull themselves together, Eddie has the smallest smile that he hides behind a biscuit as soon as Buck is there to see it.

After they eat, Buck and Christopher help Eddie clear the table and bring everything into the kitchen. It’s difficult to fight the instinct to help Christopher with his dishes, but he does fine without them, if given enough time.

“My cup!” Chris says after dropping his plate off on the counter and turns back toward the living room. Buck watches him go. When he’s out of sight, Buck plucks the plates from Eddie’s hands, sets them aside, and shoves him against the refrigerator hard enough to jar the cereal box sitting on top. He pins him there by the mouth. Eddie’s hands fly up, land on his shoulders, but Buck gets ahold of his wrists and twists them up against the freezer door. He kisses Eddie once. Twice. Closed mouth. Swipes his tongue out to lick the grease off Eddie’s bottom lip. Something he’s been hunting since Eddie’s first bite. Eddie makes a high, sweet noise that makes Buck want to get on his knees. Buck removes his hands, removes his body, and last of all, removes his mouth. He steps back. Eddie is red and winded, frozen like a caricature of himself.

“Take a breath,” Buck suggests. “I hear Chris.”

Eddie shakes his head wildly to dislodge the shock. His eyes stay fixed on Buck, though. Buck puts his hands in his pockets, looking innocently at the doorway as Chris bulldozes his way in, proudly displaying the cup. He hears Eddie release a shuddering breath.

“Good job, little man,” Eddie says and to his credit, his voice is even. By the time he helps Chris lay out the dishes in their pre-determined washing order, he’s as cool as a cucumber. He side-eyes Buck a little warily, but that’s fair. His patience is so thin it’s transparent. Buck parks himself against the counter to help dry what Christopher rinses and Eddie scolds him no less than three times about what direction to wipe the glass in.

That’s the thing about Eddie Diaz. He’s a fucking control freak.

Buck whistles while he works and Christopher catches his tune, bopping from side to side. Eventually all three of them are whistling something from Buck’s subconscious childhood archives and even Eddie is bending down to shake his face in front of Christopher’s as he hits a high note. Christopher covers his dad’s face with soapy hands to push him off and leaves behind wispy clouds of suds. Buck tosses him the towel and winks when Eddie narrowly misses getting hit in the face.

“Who’s up for Disney charades?” Buck asks.

Eddie makes a face, but in this case, what Christopher says goes.

Three games of charades, dessert, and a board game and a half later, Christopher is falling asleep at the table, forehead drifting forward and back as he catches himself just barely from dropping out of the chair. After the third time this happens, Eddie gathers him up as Chris grumbles faintly, lifting his glasses to scrub at his eyes.

“Say goodnight to Buck,” Eddie instructs.

Chris lays his cheek flat against his father’s shoulder and smiles sweetly.

“G’night, Buck,” and then his eyes slide shut, and that’s that.

Buck follows them far as the living room where he throws himself across the cushions: one leg stretched out, the other on the floor. One arm across the back, the other under his head. There. Flag planted. Eddie raises his eyebrows wordlessly as he passes by the doorway and Buck half shrugs at him. When Eddie comes back, he hands Buck a beer with the top already off and sits on the floor, near Buck’s knees, leaning against the couch. Buck rolls his eyes and takes a long drink. Eddie picks at the label on his beer, twisting the bottle around and around.

“Still thinking, I take it?” Buck says.

Eddie huffs. “Tonight was good. Can we just---not, with all this stuff?”

“All this stuff,” Buck mutters. The sting is so familiar it’s hardly noticeable. “You mean the fact that I’m in love with you? Is that the stuff you’re referring to?”

It’s the first time he’s said it, but it doesn’t feel like it.

Eddie nearly drops his beer and has to do some fancy hand maneuvers to recover himself. Buck sighs and drags the arm out from under his head to lay it across his eyes. The dark helps. Well, it conceals the flush he feels crawl up his neck and cheeks.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you,” Buck hears Eddie all but whisper. “I know I’m not always there for you like you’re there for me, but you’re important to me.”

Buck peeks out over his arm and sees Eddie with his head thrown back against the cushion, throat wobbling as he fights himself over god knows what. If Buck let them, they’d probably go around and around like this for hours, but there’s a fog settling over Buck’s ears and his head feels heavy. He doesn’t want Eddie to hurt him either.

“No one is making you do anything, Ed,” Buck says, through a yawn. “You’re making this hard all on your own. If it were up to me, you’d be on this couch with me right now. Nothing hinky about it. I’d be content just holding your hand and napping.”

Eddie rolls his head, stares at Buck from the corner of his eye. It must be a full-time job to be that suspicious.

“Just a cat nap,” Buck bargains. “So I can be awake for the ride home.”

Buck waits, and the longer Eddie hesitates, the more Buck’s heart pounds because this is it, this is him winning, otherwise Eddie would just say no.

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, and all at once pushes himself off the floor without the use of his hands. He drags his bony skull and scapulae across Buck’s tender shins.

“Ow, you motherfucker!” Buck kicks out at him halfheartedly, already making grabby hands to help Eddie onto the couch.

“Language,” Eddie says primly. He climbs over Buck’s body to tuck himself in the space between Buck and the couch. He’s all elbows and knees, nearly shoving Buck off the side. Eventually, with more wiggling than is strictly necessary, they settle against each other. Eddie ends up curled behind him, one arm under Buck’s head, the other tucked under Buck’s armpit. Eddie’s pointy knee lands high, nudging threateningly at Buck’s ribs.

“This is bullshit,” Buck complains, wiggling his socked toes where they hang over the edge. “I’m clearly bigger than you.”

“Hush,” Eddie says, voice vibrating pleasantly. “My house, my rules.”

Buck grins and shuts his eyes against their reflection in the dark television monitor. If he looks too long, feels too much, he’s going to make a liar out of himself. Eddie doesn’t say anything else. The hand on Buck’s rib gets heavier gradually. Eddie twitches once or twice and startles Buck back to the world, but then he’s still and silent. They fall asleep like that, every light in the house on, including the Christmas lights that Eddie hasn’t gotten around to pulling down.

If there are dreams, Buck doesn’t remember them. That’s better than the nights he wakes up from the phantom weight on his legs that he kicks away from, definitely better than those haunting hours when he wakes up gasping, crying, not sure if Christopher being alive and well is just a story he’s telling himself and too afraid of calling Eddie to find out.

Buck doesn’t wake up until nearly two in the morning. Eddie continues to snore while Buck checks the time on his phone and reads a message from Maddie. Buck’s jeans and undershirt stick to him uncomfortably and his button-up is impossibly twisted, but Eddie’s heart is solid and slow against Buck’s back. There’s a calm, warm drift of breath across the nape of his neck. Buck soaks it in. There’s clarity here that’s just been out of reach with Eddie so stilted and unsure. He considers huddling deeper in, pulling the hand Eddie has on his arm down around his stomach and packing it in until the morning.

The small, sad kid in him that moved inside his bones somewhere before puberty and never left, reminds him that Eddie will probably get weird again in the morning. It’ll be better for Buck’s health if he isn’t around to see that. So, Buck disentangles their limbs, peeling apart skin that has begun to stick together, and slides silently from the couch to the floor. Eddie’s fingers clutch reflexively but eventually relax, face melting back into a deep sleep that renders him nearly a stranger. He begins to snore quietly as he drifts into the warm space left by Buck’s body.

Buck glares at him jealously. If the tables were turned, Buck wouldn’t be letting go so easily. They’d have to pry Eddie out of his cold, dead hands. Eddie shifts and turns his face in toward the back of the couch. Buck begrudgingly gets a throw out of the hall closet and drapes it over Eddie’s shoulders. He lightly touches Eddie’s cropped hair, acknowledges himself for the hopeless sap that he is, and lets himself out after turning off every light except for the red and green Christmas bulbs hanging from the living room ceiling.

When he wakes up close to noon the next day, he has a voice message waiting for him.

Buck frowns and rolls over onto his stomach, comforter bunched under him.

He plays the message on speaker.

A rush of white sound pierces the bedroom, probably the rush of a traffic, then a sharp breath, sounding like a man jumping from a great height: “We missed you this morning.”

The phone falls out of Buck’s limp hands. He inhales and exhales several times then squeezes the pillow under his head, punches it twice, and thumps his feet against the mattress. And then he scrambles for his phone and saves the message before it self-deletes. With the momentum of a man given a stay of execution, he throws himself out of bed and nearly breaks his neck on the way down the stairs. He can barely stop smiling long enough to brush his teeth.

He sends Eddie a text with three heart emojis and laughs when Eddie sends him an equal amount of frowny faces.

They’re not on shift together for three days. Eddie messages him here and there, and it’s not flowers and chocolate, but it’s something. When Buck walks into the station on their next shared day, backpack thrown over his shoulder, Eddie sputters out mid-word. His mouth hangs slightly open. Buck stops in his tracks because Eddie has never looked at him like that before. Buck’s not sure anyone has looked at him like that. His heart pulses viciously. He takes a deep breath, swallows hard, and heads to drop his stuff off, ignoring the spiral of anxiety about how to walk and where to put his hands. From the corner of his eye he sees Hen wave her hand in front of Eddie’s face and hears her give a little laugh when Eddie startles out of his trance and elbows her.

Morning briefing gets cut short, as usual, by the screeching of the bell.

Buck swipes a pancake on the way out of the kitchen and he and Eddie bump into each other on the way down the stairs, but once the bell rings like that, there’s no time for either of them to trip over themselves. Buck slaps him on the shoulder and sends him down first. They pile in the truck, all of them on top of each other like always, and Bobby starts spinning the scene.

A 24-hour shift turns into a double when a bout of the flu takes out three of the next crew. Buck makes it six hours into the next shift before he caves into the demands of his body and climbs through the set of blackout curtains around one of the bunks. He sets his alarm for an hour later then faceplants into a pillow with unfamiliar smells and is asleep within minutes.

The alarm doesn’t wake him up.

A wide hand on his shoulder plucks him from the dark. Buck blinks the eye not squished by the pillow open. Eddie sits near his hip, buttoned up and impeccable. He’s smiling and offering a plate. Buck lifts his head and gets both eyes in on the action. Food. Some kind of omelet. Cheese. Buck drifts toward the food, kicking his feet around and nearly getting Eddie in the kidney.

“Watch it, schmuck,” Eddie warns, grip wavering on the plate.

Buck swipes the omelet with greedy fingers and nearly burns his tongue out of his head swallowing it in three big bites. Eddie holds the plate up sideways, gives it a shake, and chuckles. He waves a fork and knife with his other hand.

“Guess you didn’t want these,” he says.

“Whattimeisit,” Buck says, mouth full.

“It’s three.” Eddie smiles when Buck looks at him flatly. “In the afternoon,” he clarifies.

“Shit.” Buck snatches his phone up, but it lights up with a gentle tap. “My alarm didn’t go off.”

Eddie shrugs a shoulder. “I turned it off. We didn’t have a call. Cap said to let you sleep.”

Buck looks around, but the other bunks are all empty. He tries to rub some of the sleep off his face. There’s still a part of him that wants to impress Eddie. Something that still believes putting on the uniform is superhero costume that makes him invulnerable. Sleep shouldn’t feel so embarrassing.

“I thought you’d be hungry,” Eddie says. “Go back to sleep if you want.”

“No,” Buck says quickly, and before he means to do it, he’s holding onto Eddie’s forearm to keep him from slipping out of Buck’s bunk. Eddie draws in a sharp breath. This close the smell of his aftershave fills the space, tinged with just a hint of smoke. “No thanks. And. Don’t go yet?”

Eddie looks around, eyebrows scrunched. “Buck,” he says, slowly.

“I know. Just---have you been thinking about me?”

Eddie nods, but it could easily be a twitch. Buck deserves more than that.

“I need you to say it,” Buck says.

“Fine,” Eddie says. “I think about you. Ok?”

Hoping and knowing are not the same thing, but Eddie doesn’t need to know just how insincere Buck’s bravado is. He can learn this in two years, perhaps. Let Buck lock him down first.

Buck tucks his feet up so he can scoot closer. He takes the plate and silverware out of Eddie’s hands to set aside somewhere in the depth of the bunk.

“And what have you been thinking?” Buck pushes.

Eddie licks his lips and looks away. His shoulders curl like a question mark.

“Oh, really,” Buck says. He feels his own ears turn red. A shiver spiders up his spine. “Seems like thoughts of that nature should really be shared. I mean it’s not really fair, is it? Thinking about me without telling me what you’re thinking? Shouldn’t I be involved?”

“Buck, I’m no good at this,” Eddie grumbles. He twists his fingers together and looks anywhere but at Buck directly. “I’ve never been much for---”

“You don’t have to be,” Buck rushes. “All you gotta do is be here. I got this, man. I _promise_.”

Eddie bites his top lip before releasing it and the space behind Buck’s head and heart swings wide open because that’s Eddie’s tell. Eddie’s been thinking about him and Eddie wants to stay. Buck waits and Eddie twists his arm in Buck’s grip so that he’s cupping Buck’s elbow. His fingertips graze softly over Buck’s bicep; it almost tickles, but then Eddie does it again, more firmly, and the movement sends a sharp jolt to his groin that has Buck reaching down to grab his own thigh, fingers clawing as Eddie turns and meets Buck’s eyes with blown pupils. The sharpness spreads into a slow, persistent throb that has Buck hitching forward half a foot, close enough to taste the coffee on Eddie’s breath.

Buck stops there. Eddie’s eyelashes flutter.

“Do you think about kissing me?” Buck asks.

Eddie’s eyes drop down, before he jerks them back up. There’s a strain around his brows like he’s being torn into two. He leans forward in jolting motions. Stop and start. Stop and start. Buck tries to project every inch of the gravity in his body outward, hoping to pull Eddie into his orbit.

“Kissing you?” Eddie puffs out, breathing on Buck’s mouth. “I think about your mouth. It’s always so pink. And you look like you want me to---”

Use me. _Destroy me_. Fuck me. _Fuck me up._

“Like I want you to what?” Buck whispers.

Eddie closes the distance at last and kisses him carefully, a bare brush of chapped lips against his own. Buck keeps his mouth soft, lets his jaw go slack as Eddie lifts his other hand and grazes the shell of Buck’s ear, fingering the sensitive skin below his hairline. Eddie tips his mouth away too soon, takes a breath, but keeping eye contact, he kisses Buck again, with so much caution and tenderness that Buck wants to roll over and show his belly. Buck twists the fabric of his uniform pants in one hand and balls up the wool blanket with the other. Eddie traces Buck’s mouth with his tongue.

Buck whines shamelessly, tongue reaching out to touch Eddie’s.

Eddie pulls back, shaking. His nostrils flare with each breath.

“Good, right?” Buck rasps. “You feel it too.”

Eddie blinks reflexively. “How is it so easy for you?”

“It’s not. I mean, it is, but not the way you mean it.” Buck reaches up to clutch Eddie’s hand flat to his neck. “I just feel this way. I can’t help it, Eddie.”

Eddie furrows his brows. He uses his thumb to stroke along Buck’s jawbone. With another hesitant jolt, he follows the path of his fingers with the scratch of his mouth. Buck tilts his chin to the side to accept the kiss. Eddie leaves saliva behind to cool as he moves down Buck’s neck. Eddie circles Buck’s arms and squeezes them and Buck pushes his throat out, looking over Eddie’s shoulder. They’re alone still. Maybe not for long. He scoots back, tugging on Eddie by the waist.

“Come here. Get in here.”

Eddie takes one last look around and then all but dives in, yanking the curtain shut behind him with a rattle of the plastic rings. Buck lays down on his side and Eddie mirrors him, the tips of his boots nudging Buck’s shins. Buck cups both sides of Eddie’s face and kisses him this time. He presses with his teeth and slides his tongue into Eddie’s mouth as he throws his leg over Eddie’s hip. It’s hotter where they hitch together, skin flushed under the fabric of their pants. Their belts catch on each other.

“Oh, god,” Eddie gasps, twisting his mouth free. He buries his face against Buck’s clavicle.

“Shh,” Buck warns and gives a slow, upward grind. “Your dick feels so big. Is it?”

“You just told me to be quiet,” Eddie says, half hysterically. “Make up your mind, bud.”

Buck laughs, then sucks in a startled breath when Eddie clutches a handful of Buck’s ass. He twists and bites Eddie’s cheek and they’re off, sparked, kissing wildly between nearly vengeful nips, rutting their dicks together with possessed urgency. Buck can only pull an inch away before Eddie digs his fingers in sharply and drags them back together. Buck’s head spins in the humid, dark space. His entire lower abdomen is stiff as a board while Eddie fucks against him, making soft, sweet sounds Buck hadn’t known to expect. After less than a minute, it’s clear he’s going to come if he so much as breathes wrong, so he slows and stays as still as he can but keeps tugging on Eddie’s hips. Eddie rubs against him hungrily, kissing over the fabric of Buck's shirt, tugging it down to get the skin underneath. Buck tilts his hips up slightly, can’t help it. His thighs start shaking. The ridge of Eddie’s dick keeps knocking just under the head of Buck’s and his balls feel swollen, fat, ready to give up everything.

It almost doesn’t matter. It’s almost too late.

“I’m gonna come,” Buck whispers. “Eddie, stop, you’re making me come.”

Eddie huffs and freezes. His hips give one last abortive thrust. Buck rubs his thigh up and down Eddie’s hip and tries not to roll over on top of him. They pant at each other in the dark. Buck hears wet noises from Eddie’s mouth as he tries to make enough air to speak.

“You don’t want to?”

Buck nearly whimpers. “I do. That’s not even fair to ask. But this is my last pair of pants.”

Eddie sighs, long and slow. “Shit,” he says, backing off. “And we’re at work.”

“Less of a problem for me than it probably should be,” Buck admits, then offers hopefully, “You wanna get naked, I’m down.”

Eddie starts laughing abruptly, his whole upper body shaking and Buck’s dick jolts unhappily. He squeezes his eyes shut and reaches down to give it an unkind twist. It doesn’t do much. Eddie’s laughter eventually bubbles away and he rolls onto his back, fabric shifting noisily under him. There’s a loud clatter when he knocks the plate from earlier onto the floor.

“Smooth,” Buck says.

Eddie grunts and opens the curtain, swinging his legs over the side. Buck groans at the draft of air conditioning and hooks his arm around Eddie’s waist, mashing his face against Eddie’s lower back where it is warm and damp with fresh sweat.

“I want a raincheck,” Buck tells him. “With interest.”

“If you don’t let go of me, I’m gonna cash this check right now,” Eddie warns and Buck whines again, fingers digging into the flesh of Eddie’s side. Eddie flinches, grabbing at Buck’s hand, so Buck lets go, moving to flatten his hand over the softness of Eddie’s stomach. It’s more tummy than muscle at this point in Eddie’s training cycle. Just beneath his pinky is the warm metal of Eddie’s belt buckle.

“Let me think,” Buck says, running his thumb over the leather. He dips his fingers underneath to feel silky, hot skin, getting familiar with the coarse hair springing back at him. “Maybe we could just suck each other off and save the mess.”

At that moment, Chimney walks in, chewing his gum loudly and already talking a mile a minute like he does when he’s overtired. He stops dead when he spots them, and his face goes as still as it had when he’d gotten the rebar through his brain. None of them breathe. One heartbeat, two, then Chim spins on one foot and walks right back out, pumping a single fist in the air.

“Hen!” they hear him yell. “You owe me sixty bucks!”

“Um,” Buck says. He sits up and pulls away from Eddie.

Eddie puts his face in his hands and groans.

There’s probably going to be a meeting about this.

*******

Late afternoon sunshine makes the red dirt glow. The fire engines gleam like they’re brand new. The whole world is bright and filled with hope and Norman Rockwell paintings.

Chimney and Eddie take point on the maneuver. Eddie pulls the woman to the top of the cliff and he’s grinning when they clear the edge. She’s crying when Hen leads her to the back of the ambulance. Buck saunters toward Eddie, who is stilling mugging, leaning his weight against the resistance of the rope with the helmet tipped back from his forehead. Sweat drips down the side of his face and he’s goddamn beautiful. He's always been stupidly beautiful, right from the start. Buck opens his mouth to say something, probably something smart, but at that moment, there’s a crack, a hiss, the pulley lets go and Eddie’s gone. He’s just fucking _gone_.

Buck doesn’t hesitate. There's no time. He throws himself forward, lands on his belly, and gets the rope in his hands seconds before it snaps out of reach. The weight of Eddie’s body drags him a good ten feet, but then he’s not alone, and at least three others are in the red dirt with him and at last they stop.

Buck pants wildly, dirt puffing up at him. His hands and forearms are bleeding, making the rope slick. He knots it around his fists, tighter and tighter. He can’t bring himself to move.

“Eddie?” he calls.

Silence. Buck’s vision goes white. Please, please, _please_.

Fuzz fills his ears, and then---

“I’m here,” Eddie says. “Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened up there?”

Buck buries his face in the dirt. He starts laughing and it’s almost the same as crying. When they manage to drag Eddie back to solid ground, Buck gets both fists tangled in his gear and yanks him in, hugging him tight. Tighter. Eddie slowly wraps two long arms around Buck’s body and then Eddie’s grip goes just as tight and he isn’t letting go either.

“You suck,” Buck tells him. “Did I ever tell you how terrible you are?”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says helplessly. Buck feels him shrug. “I don’t mean to.”

“Can I come back up now?” Chimney asks from below and thankfully, on a different rope. “Or would that be too much trouble? _Guys?_ Hello? _Marco?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter done. The climax chapter (ehm. um.) to follow. Thanks for sticking with the story so far. You can always hit me up at fabella-aka-wistfulfever.tumblr.com. I post my videos at vidsbyfabella on youtube. Feedback is welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Getting Eddie alone is the only thing on Buck’s mind for three days and counting. It’s also suddenly impossible. They’re both too tired after their double and Eddie’s narrow escape from sudden death for the kind of scenarios Buck has in mind and Eddie needs to go home to Christopher and hug him real tight. Alright, that’s understandable. Christopher is everything and Buck doesn’t want to get in the way of that. Their schedules go out of sync when Eddie has to cover for another case of the flu, so Buck offers to come in himself, plotting so that their rotations match up, but Bobby goes all shifty about the overtime and staffing ratios, and honestly, Buck tunes right out and pictures little cartoon birdies flying out of Bobby’s ears as he talks.

On the fourth morning, it’s Eddie’s day off and Buck’s day on. Buck wakes up to raging hard on, but what’s new is the way he reaches across the bed for someone who has never been there before. His fingers find cold sheets. When he opens his eyes, sunlight through palm leaves float across his pillow, but Eddie isn’t there. It’s disappointing enough to make him get straight out of bed.

There was probably a time when Eddie wasn’t the first thought on his mind when he woke up, but it’s been going on long enough now that Buck doesn’t remember the transition clearly.

Buck calls him on the way to work. Eddie answers after three rings, and his voice is so raspy and warm when he says hello that Buck nearly crushes the phone he squeezes it so hard. It’s easy to picture what Eddie looks like in bed like that. It’s easy to picture ways to keep him there.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Buck says.

“Why do you sound annoyed? It’s only six forty-five. Did you not get your coffee?”

Buck dodges around a squirrel on the road and narrowly misses taking out a Prius, but decides not to mention this to Eddie.

“The line was too long. Riddle me this, Eddie. Why haven’t we been to bone town yet?”

Silence on the other end, then, “It’s too early for this.”

“I feel like maybe I should pretend to be the good guy here and try to take things slowly, explore your feelings on this matter more, but you’re too fucking hot. I have needs, Eddie. You are those needs. Can I please come over after work? My dick is going to fall off and you’re gonna regret never getting an introduction.”

“Buck 1.0,” Eddie rumbles. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Buck starts laughing. “That’s just mean, Eds.”

“Keep it in your pants, Buckaroo. Good things come to those who wait.”

“Eddie,” Buck whines.

“I will talk to you later,” Eddie says firmly and hangs up. Buck lets his head drop forward for a second before he refocuses on the road. The prius head seems to be doing its best to stay out of his lane. Buck frowns at himself in the rear-view mirror. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned bone town. It would be more than enough to get a movie night with his boys without sitting on his own hands to keep from tugging Eddie under his arm. Not exactly Buck 1.0 material. Shame settles around his shoulder like a shirt a size too small.

Buck’s day doesn’t get better from there. Traffic makes him late for work, which means he misses Bobby’s five star waffle sandwiches and hears nothing but crap from the team for the first three hours. He steps in a pothole during a traffic rescue and nearly twists his ankle right off his leg. He loses one half of his favorite pair of gloves to a rabid cat. Chim gets ahold of his suspenders and snaps them a little too hard (ok, so maybe he’d been mocking Chim’s facebook photo for five minutes straight, but that’s what little brothers are for and Chim needs to adapt to the status quo already). Bobby puts him on bathroom duty for the afternoon, right after Greenberg has chili for the third shift in a row.

He leaves the scene of the crime to retrieve a more aggressive plunger when he hears the familiar shuffle-clack-shuffle that makes his shoulders straighten, his heart swell, and his head whip around.

“Buck!” Chris shouts, already more than half way across the room.

Buck squats to catch him just as Chris throws himself faithfully forward. His skinny little arms wrap around Buck’s neck and Buck lifts him straight up into the air. There’s suddenly light and space in the world. Around the bundle of squirming joy, he finds Eddie propped against the firetruck with his arms and ankles crossed, wearing a truly indecent pair of blue jeans and crisp white Henley. Buck tears his eyes away and plucks Christopher just far enough away to peer in his grinning face. His ugly mug reflects back at him in Christopher’s smudged glasses.

“What are you doing here, buddy?”

Christopher squirms more, dimples everywhere. “Dad brought you dinner! It’s a surprise!”

Buck sets Christopher down carefully and goes to scrub his hair out of his eyes but Chris runs off before he can, gait awkward but consistent. A joyful uproar rises behind him somewhere, but Buck is deaf to it at the moment. Eddie straightens when Buck approaches, holding up a square plastic box with a little bow on top. Buck takes it, smiling. It’s warm in his hands.

“Tamales,” Eddie explains. “Christopher did a lot of the work.”

“I see. And whose idea was it?”

Eddie shrugs. The left side of his mouth dimples.

“This is really sweet,” Buck says sincerely. He smooths his hand over the container. “Thank you.”

Greenberg wanders by, sniffing the air. “Hey, where’s mine? Sharing is caring, Buck.”

“Haven’t you done enough damage?” Buck snaps. Greenberg throws palms up and sidesteps away. Eddie raises an eyebrow, but Buck shakes his head. There were no words for that mess.

“Busy today?”

“Not really.” Buck cracks his neck. It’s louder than expected. “Just---my head is elsewhere.”

Eddie meets his eyes. Patrick starts up a hose nearby and the water hits the side of the truck with a concussive blast. Buck sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. Eddie settles against the bumper and tilts his head, studying Buck with fixed attention. It’s the kind of focus Buck could roll around in, go belly up for, but he compromises by edging close until he can lean on the bumper and his hip nudges against Eddie’s. From this distance, Eddie smells like he just stepped out of the shower, something minty on his breath. Eddie doesn’t shy away for once. He lifts his chin to maintain eye contact. That little beauty mark on his upper cheek stands out starkly in the light.

“I thought about you this morning,” Eddie says, low, barely more than a whisper.

Buck’s skin cinches tight. “Oh yeah?”

Eddie nods and pokes his tongue at his incisor.

“You know I’ve never been with a man, right?”

Buck nods sharply. He attempts to clear his throat, but it’s as dry as tinder and it feels like he's swallowed a fistful of rocks. Eddie’s basically admitted to only sleeping with Shannon and a couple of other women in his life, and those encounters had been the sexual equivalent of lightning strikes, never to occur again. Sex is something Eddie talks about like it happens to other people, if he talks about it at all, which is rare. Buck hasn’t pushed because he’s a possessive asshole at heart. 

“So I was thinking about that, right?”

“Right,” Buck says. He smiles rigidly at a passing maintenance woman. “You were thinking.”

“I was a little worried. Change isn’t exactly easy for me.”

_Ha._ Eddie squints his eyes like he’s daring Buck to laugh. Buck nobly refrains.

“You’re a stubborn fuck, yes, go on.”

Eddie waits. Buck’s poker face holds.

“I thought---no, worried, that it wouldn’t be any good, that I wouldn’t be enough.” Buck makes to interrupt, but Eddie holds up a hand, gaze sharpening. “But it’s you and it’s me. And I think you’re going to take _very_ good care of me, aren’t you?”

Buck’s lips part. A full body shiver nearly takes him out at the knees.

“I,” Buck says. He struggles to keep the box from slipping out of his numb fingers. “I, um.”

Eddie smirks. That has the expected effect and it’s a miracle the building doesn’t burn down around them from all the sparks. Buck half slides off the bumper and Eddie outright laughs.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I’m not worried anymore. Enjoy those Tamales, Buckley.”

Eddie pats Buck’s cheek sharply, _tap tap_ , and wanders off after Christopher. Buck shuts his eyes, counts to ten, then forfeits his pride, what there is left of it, and gives chase up the stairs. The Greenberg Disaster is going to have to wait. _His boys are here_.

Buck steps out of the station the next morning into sunshine so bright it makes his dry eyes prickle and flood with tears. He raises his hand to block the bright light until he can adjust and feels members of his team shoulder eagerly past him. He’s jostled forward, hand dropping, and oh, _Eddie_. Buck stumbles when Greenberg yanks him around for a companionable goodbye hug and Buck scrambles free, and there, _Eddie’s still there_ , pressed perfect and flat like a leaf between pages, the colors of him bursting across Buck’s retinas as Eddie climbs down from his truck.

Eddie strolls toward the mass exodus with his overnight pack in one hand. Others stop him, touch him, speak to him, but his eyes are only for Buck, soft gold and so generous and welcoming that Buck can do nothing but stay still and let Eddie happen to him. Chim says something to Buck as he passes and Buck nods, agrees, does not give a single fuck. Chimney scowls at him like he’s lost his mind, then follows Buck’s line of sight and his face flattens with understanding. He throws his hands up and heads to his car. He and Eddie pass each other and Chimney doesn’t even bother making a second attempt at anything resembling human interaction.

“Hey,” Eddie says, when he’s close enough.

Buck can’t make words, but Eddie doesn’t seem bothered by it. He laughs with his eyes and moves to go around Buck, grazing Buck’s pinky finger with his own. Before Buck even considers it, he snatches Eddie’s hand out of the air, his own fingers sweaty and eager, slipping messily over Eddie’s scarred knuckles.

Eddie stops, smiling sweetly.

“Play hooky,” Buck whispers urgently. “Come home with me.”

Eddie glances around helplessly. “Buck, I’ve never played hooky a day in my life.”

Right. _Of course._ That makes sense. Buck’s hand spasms around Eddie’s. He inhales carefully and makes himself let go.

“Yeah. Ok. Sorry, man.”

Eddie stares at him for a second, clearly uneasy, then nods and walks away. Buck watches him go, the straight line of Eddie’s spine, and his stomach aches with that old familiar hunger. It feels like an ache that fucking could never ease. Still, he’d like to try it.

When Buck lets himself into his apartment, his dishes from yesterday are still out on the kitchen table and there’s a pile of mail waiting to be sorted next to them. It’s painfully quiet. Buck tugs his shirt off on the way to the bathroom, kicking one boot off, then the other. If he could strip his heart out and off in the same way, life would be easier on him. He lets the shower run until steam fogs the mirror while he makes a protein shake and downs it in two big gulps. When he finally climbs under the hot spray, his muscles are bunched, vibrating with tension. He presses his erection flat against his stomach, gives a little tug, then slaps the shower wall and ducks his head below the spray.

“No,” he hisses. “We’re not doing this today.”

“You sure about that?” Eddie says, lilting and from just behind the curtain. Buck swings around, heart staying in place while his body spins, and his left foot slips. He nearly brains himself on the shower head but Eddie reaches around the half open curtain and catches him by the forearms. Buck stares at him, water beating against the side of his face. Eddie laughs silently, with all those pretty teeth, and Buck greedily takes him in. Eddie is shirtless and sockless, wearing nothing but a pair of loosely fastened uniform pants. He’s there. He’s real. Edmundo Diaz played hooky for him. Buck’s mouth works but nothing comes out.

“So,” Eddie says. He licks his bottom lip. “I feel like you’ve been explicitly consenting for weeks now, but just to be clear---”

Buck yanks him in, pants and all. The first kiss is mostly teeth because Eddie’s mid-word, but then he gets Eddie’s warm tongue and they are gasping into each other’s mouth while Buck yanks Eddie’s pants open, shoves his briefs out of the way and finally, finally, gets both hands on Eddie’s dick. Eddie jolts and their foreheads ricochet off of each other, but the stars behind his eyelids have nothing on the thick, heavy weight in his hands. He bites Eddie’s neck and yanks the pants and briefs down past Eddie’s knees.

“Get these off,” Buck mutters. “God, look at you. Damn, Eddie.”

Eddie kicks his feet free of the fabric and ends up slipping all over the wet tile. They surf across porcelain until Buck pins Eddie against the shower wall, one shoulder, two, and bam, it’s skin against skin and everything is warm and wet and easy to slide against. Sharp pleasure spikes his guts when Eddie leans up to lick into his mouth. Buck melts into the pressure, inhales him, and holds him tightly by the shoulders while they thrust against each other, slick skin and the crisp rasp of body hair. When Buck squats far enough to get their dicks lined up, Eddie smacks his head smartly off the wall and grabs at Buck’s sides. At this pace, they were going to wind up in the hospital again. Fucking. Worth. It.

“That’s it,” Buck says, circling his hips, watching every twitch. “You’re gonna give it up for me, Eds. Don’t you dare hold back.”

Eddie bites his lip and the way his eyelashes are clumped together, hair flattened by the water, makes Buck crush him tighter, rake his nails down Eddie’s back and lean into the spray so he can bite his chin, his throat, his pec. Red crescents flare up below his mouth. Eddie flinches away at a particularly vicious nip, cries out with something that isn’t quite protest, and Buck squeezes his eyes shut. Something that predates them, or him even, people maybe, makes him want to draw blood.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie says. “Do I need to get you a muzzle? Didn’t you eat something?”

Now that’s an idea. His baby’s brilliant. He licks a line straight across Eddie’s nipple, then, with grunting effort, moves to turn Eddie to face the wall. Eddie goes rigid, suddenly a little wide-eyed, and fights his way back around. Buck stops, shakes water out of his eyes, and tries to clear the fog from his brain. Eddie’s got that stiff embarrassment slowing him down: pursed lips, dodgy eyes, hands that don’t settle. He’s not ever going to say it, but he’s shy. Whatever had gotten Eddie into Buck’s shower hadn’t spared anything for what would follow. That’s fine.

“I’ve got you,” Buck says. “I’ll take care of you, remember? Just let me do it, Eds.”

Buck gentles his hands again, scrubs them from Eddie’s elbows to either side of his head. Eddie’s eyes glitter at him with a history just out of reach. Buck strokes his thumb over Eddie’s stubborn chin until it relaxes.

“Baby,” Buck tries. “You’re gonna be mine to care for now.”

Eddie’s jaw works, half ready to be offended like he always is. Buck braces his knees and gets ready to latch on for a good fight when he feels some of the tension drain out of him. He’s suddenly heavier in Buck’s arms, grounded to the earth once more.

“Don’t call me baby,” Eddie mutters, shoulders unlocking.

Buck kisses him and says into his mouth, “Baby.” Kisses his chin. “Baby.” Sucks his earlobe in and gives it a little nip. “Baby.”

Eddie softens and turns into the kisses like a plant searching for sunshine. His muscles turn into liquid gold under Buck’s hands. He drags his fingers through Buck’s wet hair, splattering droplets over Buck’s shoulder and back. He steps forward, reaching, and Buck uses his momentum to turn him again. This time Eddie goes. A little slowly, a little awkward shuffling over the pair of pants clogging the shower drain, but he goes. He leans forward under the spray, arms braced over his head, and Buck takes a minute. He needs that minute. Eddie waits, water skating over the lean length of him.

Most of the bruising and scrapes have faded away. Buck skims his fingers around a scatter of bruising that lingers on Eddie’s left rib cage, then cups the dip of Eddie’s waist with both hands and leans in to kiss the center of his spine. It’s something like making a wish. Eddie shifts and Buck rubs him, up and down, calming him. He lets his tongue slide out to taste clean skin.

“Do you like to be looked at?” Buck wonders, rumbling across Eddie’s shoulder blades as he chases the lines and dips. “I like looking at you, baby.”

Eddie sighs. His fists flatten against the wall.

“I’ve been looking at you for a while now, every chance I get. How does that make you feel?”

He kisses the after echo of a bruise that’s been haunting him and waits.

“Good,” Eddie finally answers.

“You should feel good,” Buck says and brings his hands around to slowly knead the subtle rounding of Eddie’s hips. His ass is as pretty and plump as Buck has ever pictured, a few shades lighter than his back, with three brilliant beauty marks on the right cheek. “You make me feel good all the time. You’re so good, baby.”

Eddie shivers, tilting further into the water so that a new river cuts a path down to his glutes. His ribs expand and deflate rapidly. He’s a hummingbird in Buck’s hands, as likely to dart away.

Buck lowers himself to his knees on Eddie’s work pants, which brings him eye level with the small of Eddie’s back and the two beautiful dimples on either side of his spine. He’s seen these before, when Eddie is changing his shirt, when he’s trying not to look. Eddie stops breathing, ribcage suddenly frozen on exhale. Buck kisses each dimple with as much reverence as they deserve. Water rushes across the tip of his nose, into his mouth, lukewarm at this point. He grazes his palms over the curve of Eddie’s ass and they flex at the gentlest pressure and Eddie makes a sweet, hungry sound.

Buck looks up the length of Eddie’s back.

“I’m about to take very, very good care of you,” Buck informs him and uses his palms to press the cheeks apart. Eddie sucks in a noisy breath and Buck leans in, licking him from scrotum to the start of his spine. Eddie cries out, startled, and nearly climbs the wall in front of him. Buck gets a solid grip on his hips, mirrored thumbs keeping Eddie spread wide open. He flicks his tongue over the wrinkled flesh of Eddie’s rim and Eddie jerks, squeaking against the wall.

“Buck,” Eddie whines, sounding lost, and Buck rubs his thighs, his lower back. He gets his tongue inside where everything is tender, humid, and untouched and Eddie starts crying out with every press of his tongue like Buck’s stuffing him with his cock, and Buck loses his mind a little. He buries himself between Eddie’s cheeks and tongue fucks him so aggressively it makes his throat ache and his jaw attempt to unhinge in protest.

No one has ever done this to Eddie. That’s all Buck can think about.

I’m the first, he thinks, a little hysterically. This works for Buck in a big way.

Before long, Buck has Eddie loose and slutty, using the wall for momentum to shove himself onto Buck’s face and it’s harder and harder to breathe. Bucks spreads his knees wide and gets his hand wrapped around his own dick, jacking himself roughly while Eddie rides his tongue and makes these high, desperate sounds unlike anything Buck has ever heard before.

“God,” Eddie keeps saying. “God, oh god, oh god.”

Buck rumbles against him. No one is coming to save Eddie now. When his tongue gets tired, he gets a finger inside Eddie, then two, sooner than he expects, and Eddie grabs onto the shower curtain with one hand, wraps it in his fist, and uses the other on that beautiful cock. Buck gets his fingers in deep, curls them, and licks where Eddie’s flesh and his fingers become one. That’s it, he thinks, practically crooning in his own head. _That’s it, baby_ , and Eddie turns to stone, gasping as he struggles to keep fucking both his fist and Buck’s fingers with this pretty little stutter-thrust that is going to get Buck’s juices stirring at some inopportune future time.

Buck clamps his fingers around the base of his cock so that he can watch the show and sure enough Eddie starts bucking on his hand, ass cheeks flexing as Buck strokes his prostate once, twice, and then another time for the win, and Eddie grunts, spasming around Buck’s fingers. The shower curtain comes free with a _pop, pop, pop_ , and Eddie buckles with it, right into Buck’s lap.

“Baby,” Buck whispers. Eddie is limp in his arms, bright red, eyes completely black when Buck pinches his chin to get a look at his face. Buck’s balls clench when Eddie reaches out with dazed, gleaming lips and kisses Buck’s fingers. Can he smell himself there? Buck moans and sits back on his leg, lifts the other to brace Eddie against, numb to the tepid water beating on their necks. He lifts Eddie’s white-splattered fingers, takes two of them in his mouth. Eddie starts shivering, eyelids fluttering when Buck scrapes him clean with his teeth.

“Buck,” Eddie whimpers, and Buck digs a hand between them and starts jacking his cock with Eddie’s fingers still in his mouth. No more. He’s got nothing left to give. He needs this. He really needs it.

He fixates on Eddie’s fucked-out face and hitches his ass up, throwing himself into his own fist while he huffs and puffs around Eddie’s fingers. Eddie watches him with exhausted interest, curling his fingertips around Buck’s tongue, reaching for the back of his throat, then hooking his cheek, and Buck fucks against the gravity of their bodies, the head of his dick brushing Eddie’s hairy thigh with every thrust. It’s not long before he’s gasping, whining, and striping his knuckles and Eddie’s hip with thick globs of semen that feels like it comes from somewhere deeper than his balls.

He relaxes in waves. Eddie’s fingers slip out of his mouth.

“Sorry,” Buck says, though he’s not sure for what.

Eddie shakes his head, confused.

Buck reaches blindly to turn the shower off. They hold each other for a moment in a chilly puddle of water, shivering. After, he rinses his hand off with that same water and splashes a little on Eddie’s hip. He gets them both to their feet, and Eddie is basically dead weight, going where Buck puts him. He lets Buck dry him off and just stares, blinking slowly, droplets falling from his hair, his nose, his eyebrows. Buck pats his face dry. His fingers tremble, fumbling with the fabric.

“I didn’t even touch you,” Eddie says when Buck sets the towel aside.

“I was too keyed up,” Buck says. “Probably a good thing.”

Eddie starts to say something, but then doesn’t. Buck bites his lip and reaches for the larger towels. He wraps one around Eddie’s waist and the other around himself.

“Taking care of me again?”

Buck shrugs. He holds out a hand, palm up. “Nap time,” he suggests.

“Not kicking me out, I guess,” Eddie says, then knots his fingers between Buck’s.

"Don’t be dumb,” Buck says. “I’m more likely to handcuff myself to you and make you drag me around in this towel for the next three days.”

Eddie smiles at him, another new one, shy and thankful in a way that hurts too much to think about. Buck suddenly feels ancient. Weird how that works.

Up in the loft, they drop the towels and climb in from opposite sides. Eddie lays on his stomach, plumping both of Buck’s pillows underneath his head and Buck lines his front up with Eddie’s side, throwing his thigh heavy over both of Eddie’s. He shoves his arm under the pillow and lays his face down next to Eddie’s, so close that Eddie’s eyes blur into an amorphous blob. It’s so quiet between them that it should be intimidating. He’s never fucked someone who became so silent and serious after.

“I think you need me, Diaz,” Buck says when their staring contest stretches unbearably. “Admit it. I’m the rice to your pudding. The pineapple to your pizza. The---”

Buck interrupts himself with a yawn.

Eddie’s lips twist, visible cheek dimpling. He doesn’t say anything. That doesn’t bother Buck much, because Buck knows he’s right. He also knows Eddie isn’t the type of man to admit very much about himself without a good fight to earn it. That’ll be a problem, something to work on, but Buck is on board with it. He can handle Eddie. Eventually, Eddie’s eyes slip shut, and it’s something like hiding, but Buck lets him. He presses his mouth against Eddie’s forehead and strokes Eddie’s shoulder and hair until his hand gets tired, and then he just tucks in close so that they can share the same air. They sleep until the sun rises hot to bake them under the blankets. When he wakes, it’s because Eddie rolls over onto him, slotting them together from mouth to ankle. Some impossible skipping forward of time and he’s got Eddie shoved deep inside, splitting him open just as much as he’s filling him up, and Eddie’s a little rough with him. Just the way he likes.

“Fuck me,” Buck begs against Eddie’s open mouth. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck---"

*

Buck pinches the greasy paper bag between his teeth and juggles the drink carrier with one hand while he digs his keys out of his jeans with the other. The lights are already on when he gets the door open. One of his favorite records is on the player, a slow jazzy number that makes Buck daydream of smokey clubs and fedoras. It was something he bought to impress a woman once and ended up liking despite himself. He closes the door quietly behind himself. He sets the shakes and food down on the tabletop between scattered crayons and a familiar trifecta of keys, phone, and wallet.

He rounds the corner and Eddie and Christopher are there. They’ve pushed the coffee table aside and rolled up the carpet, leaving it slumped against the wall. Eddie takes two steps forward, throws his hands up, then shuffles backward. Chris repeats the motions at his side, a lot slower, with intense concentration. Neither of them matches the beat. Eddie’s a terrible dancer, really.

Buck presses his hand flat against his stomach.

 _We are being well fed, my friend,_ he thinks.

Eddie looks up, smiles easily. “Hey, Buck,” he says.

“I’m dancing!” Chris shouts. He does an awkward turn with his crutches.

“I object,” Buck says. “Your dad has two left feet.”

“You want in on this, Buckley?” Eddie says, eyes gleaming. He does a fancy little spin that nearly takes out the television.

Buck really, really does.

“Don’t call me Buckley, Diaz,” Buck says. “Move aside, baby. I’ve got this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting patiently for this chapter, which is mostly just Buck being horny on main. I feel pretty happy with this story, overall. I've been known to write an unhappy/open ending for my stories in the past, but something about these two just makes me want to tie everything up into a neat-happy-pretty bow. I hope you enjoyed the ride. I loved getting a chance to stretch the writer in me again. I still feel very inspired by this fandom/series, so I intend to write more. 
> 
> Songs I listened to on repeat: "Too Repressed" by Sometymes Why, "What You Do" by James Gillespie, and "Freaking Out" by Spencer Sutherland.
> 
> You can catch me at fabella-aka-wistfulfever.tumblr.com sometimes. Or at vidsbyfabella on youtube.


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